i have often thought i would fall in love with someone like a sailor, who would be absent often, and for long nights. someone to have my letter tucked in his pocket, a handkerchief that smells like me folded into his suitcase, my love sent along, whispered in his ear. i imagined that we would always want more of each other than we could have.

i find, though, that uncertainty does not become me. i find that distance makes me sad, and tired and drink too much before bed. i find that my tolerance for being alone diminishes and i stay at my father and sister’s house until everyone has gone to bed, and even then i take the long way home for the company of the other drivers on the road.

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